XIII. GRIMA'S TRUTH.

hey ! here to promise that this blog isn't dead. i know its a little early in my lifespan to just blank out like that but i promise i didn't like. do any of it on purpose. state testing for juniors in my school was unexpectedly moved up a week, i was suddenly hit with the FATTEST case of writers block, and i suddenly got the urge to grind up six pulls for the love of my life on a gacha game was overall swamped by other miscellaneous things that'd end up clogging this post if i explained them all. sorry !

with all of that being said though … i'll likely be back up and running by june 7th if life is merciful. i might queue some owed starters and headcanons to come out before then, but there's not gonna be anything new or big until that following weekend. just a widdle hiatus … i swear.

* ––– it pours out of him ( crimson ichor ) painting the image of an angry red continent on his torso. there is a wound, one inch deep and nearly twice as long, just below his left shoulder. a trembling hand pulls away, bringing sticky warmth along with it. definitely will more than bruise.it burns and it burns and it burns and it burns … and yet, he doesn’t feel it. there is an empty void where the pain should be, where it is instead replaced with … a cleanliness. he feels clean, born anew and doused in the holy baptismal waters of naga herself – as if nothing had or would ever touch him. mouth slightly agape, the young man turns his chin towards the pale gray skies and breathes out a single syllable: “ ha … ”

… and then he’s back again ; a bird grounded midflight. a once distant expression hardens into something more, and morgan furrows his eyebrows together into a displeased, jagged line. “ you think you’re quite funny, don’t you? witty. ” the words hang in the air just long enough to make the exchange uncomfortable. purple hues flutter shut – the calm before.

suddenly ( suddenlysuddenlysuddenly ) the air around the two roars – an animal, caged for far too long, leaps against its restraints and snarls at the enemy. the spell thoron is birthed from morgan’s gloved fingertips, just barely kept leashed and under control. he can feel it’s power eating away at his fingertips ; burning the hand that fed it.“ perhaps … a just punishment is in order ? ”

* – “ nothing to be scared of anymore. “ he blurts this out first, unwavering and unthinking as always – that’s all though from him ; there’s nothing else to say on the idea of ’night’ save for the fact that it is the opposite of morning and that it’ll greet him forever and always at the end of every day. ouroboros, it is, infinity upon infinity ; the most well-known ( yet also unrecognized ) show of balance in this world.

the stars though … he can tell you about the stars, because they’re what really capture his attention. he grabs the telescopes and the star maps and the sextants and just haves at it sometimes simply because it’s something to do or something to looks forward to. occasionally he ends up far from camp on his little expeditions ( it is to be expected as a novice navigator, the books say; sometimes you just lose sight of polaris and become lost, lost, lost – ) but other times he makes it to grand places, like a pretty field or hill, and makes them his own. sometimes he just lies and waits and watches, simply because he feels that way. he draws pictures in between them ; pictures that don’t ( and will never ! ) have meaning except they will because they are his, his, his –

* – wizard of oz, 1939 ; a world first doused in color. pale cheeks are flushed with pink, and a gentle smile graces softened features. morgan is the absolute vision of elation when he first hears the word, and none of it fades as he rummages among tousled bookshelves for it – a tome branded with a mark of glistening silver. the cover is pulled open in the next instant, and he can hardly contain the rising excitement in his voice as he flips through page after page after page after page –